A man’s facial hair becomes very dear to one’s heart after a long bout with the growth process. LIke a farmer and his crop…there’s comes a time for harvest. Bear had decided it was time, but we wouldn’t see it go without proper acknowledgement and historic documentation.

I’ve been lucky enough to be Bear’s muse on several occasions, so it was nice to flip the script. He came over with his dog on a blustery afternoon, we rolled up our pant legs, and headed down to the lake. I should also mention that he forgot to bring the sunbuster that I planned on using, so we were stuck with 2 inexperienced assistants (my son Max and his buddy) trying to hold a floppy bounce in 20mph winds. Thanks dudes, we made it work.

And thank you Bear for my attempt at making a memory of the infamous, late Bear Beard.


Boys have this need to disconnect from life and go play caveman in the woods. Its a reminder that we can let go of all the societal rules when we damn well please. This feeling usually passes after 2 nights of whiskey fueled campfire banter, swarms of mosquitos, vienna sausage dinners and a kinked neck. After that, domestica sounds great again.

Lets just say there was a thermos of whiskey, some machetes, a new moon and a camera involved in the making of this weirdness. Let this be a friendly reminder to get weird and be a kid as often as possible.